


Why won't you just LEAVE?

by ThePunkiest



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: F/M, Slow Burn, don't take no shit from nobody, monster bonding, you tough enough?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-03
Updated: 2016-03-21
Packaged: 2018-05-24 11:07:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6151681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThePunkiest/pseuds/ThePunkiest
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You were a tough cookie and an even tougher business woman. Can Sans ever win your heart?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. What do you want ME to do about it?

The music was blaring so loudly in the club that drinks vibrated in their crystal glasses, bass so low that your heart began to thump to the beat of the song, like _whub whub whub._ The freedom you felt was endless, stretching on and on like a beach of an island, infinite. The lights that danced in the air were mesmerizing, bright and fluid and popping in your irises. You smiled as you saw a young Asian couple popping some pills, knowing full well that they would be feeling the effects all too soon… For far too long. You swayed your body to the beat, rolling your hips slowly and twisted your wrists in tune to the song. In the mess that was the _Alucard_ nightclub, you were anonymous and insane, just as every other hot-blooded person in the place. You bit your lip and smiled as the beat dropped, the music hitting you hard like a good dose of molly. You laughed aloud, then, as you managed to catch a glimpse of the young couple, their tongues entangled like their hands and ridiculous grins stretching their lips, pressed against each other.

You managed to push through the sweating, high-as-a kite crowd to the sidelines, where a few stragglers leaned awkwardly against walls. You jogged to the bartender, a large fellow who doubled as a bouncer on slow nights, and hopped up on the counter. “Off the top, (Y/N),” he said as he cleaned a mug, never needing to look up to see who’s ass was crowding his bar. “Aw, Marcy! Never thought you’d ask!” You swatted playfully at his arm as he wiped down yet another cup (a margarita glass, this time), but he didn’t even flinch. You pouted and plucked a freshly made Sex on the Beach from beside you (meant for another customer), and sucked the drink down eagerly. At the sound of your slurping, Marcelo’s eyes flicked up at you, holding your drunk-ass gaze. “You’re gonna get _sick,_ kid.” He chastised with his deep voice, but made no move to stop you. With a smirk and an extra hard suck, you finished your drink and handed the empty glass back to him, the ice not even slightly melted. He took it with one of his huge paws, and you bit your cherry stained lips as your fingers touched. Marcelo was a few decades older than you, but _daaaaaamn_ did he age well. Still ripped, hair chocolate brown, and with an accent that could strip the panties off a nun, at 47, he was _hella fucking fine._ You smirked and slipped off the counter to his side, and took one of his large hands (which was still holding your glass) in your small ones. “Hey, Marcy, you ever wanna…” You pulled his index finger from his clenched hand and popped the tip into your mouth, gently grazing it with your teeth. You let your eyes do all the talking for you, and winked at him as his lips dipped into a handsome frown. He pulled his finger from your mouth with distaste, but you smiled anyway. “…Just think about it.” You finished, and hopped back onto the counter, sliding back onto the other side. Just as you were about to blow your bartender a kiss, you saw his eyes light up in surprise, and he pointed behind you. “Huh?” You muttered, and spun around, ready to flash a million watt grin, but your lips froze into an awkward half-smile when you saw who was behind you.

Or _what,_ rather.

“Sweet MOTHER _FUCKER!”_ You screeched and took a few steps back, noticing how fucking _tall_ your guest was.

“Goodness!” Chortled the thing as it (she?) covered its mouth with a padded hand (paw???). You almost had to do the pregnancy breathing exercises to calm down when you realized that you were standing in its _shadow._ “I apologize for scaring you, young one, and we’re very sorry to intrude, but-“

“You the proprietor of this dive?”

You jumped nearly a foot in the air as you heard a gravelly New York accent behind you, so you glanced over your shoulder to see a

_Talking_

_Skeleton_

_Prop._

“Oh, FUCK!” You hissed again, and shuffled to your right to be able to see both of the _monsters_ (‘Monsters? In MY nightclub?!’ You thought) and immediately wrapped your arms around your waist. “Uh, yeah.” You said in a high pitched (scared out of your fucking _MIND)_ voice, and hastened a look at Marcelo, who looked cool as ever in the bar. “We lost somebody in here,” said the skeleton as he moseyed on up to you, waaay farther inside your personal bubble than you liked, “A _kid._ ” He finished, and stared you down, eye sockets dark as chasms and just as cold. Instantly, you felt yourself sober and sighed in resentment. You _hated_ it when this happened. In a matter of seconds you lost your drunk, college girl vibes and settled back to Earth as a businesswoman. “Just a second,” you said, and smiled at the worried looking, towering monster (goat????), and made your way to the crowd, seamlessly blending in. You searched out your informants, those in the crown who worked for you and only you, and relayed all the information you had: A kid. You hurriedly told one of your men to escort the two monsters up to your personal quarters as well as any person who looked younger than twenty, and left to do so yourself.

They beat you to your own living room (at least you knew you had good employees). The huge goat monster sat anxiously on your couch, and the skeleton simply stood, waiting. You shot them a smile and walked into your home, slumping into a red beanbag chair. You counted to five, and smiled as your boys shuffled in with three young looking adults. However, one was seriously fighting back. “Frisk!” Gasped the goat monster, and threw herself at the young lady, positively enveloping her in white fur. But the kid struggled and finally escaped from the fluffy stranglehold, and her face was _beet fucking red._ You guffawed plainly and the young lady shot you a glare. “The fuck are _you_ laughing at, you bitch?” She seethed, fists balled up and knuckles white. She was raring for a fight! You covered your mouth but laughed again, and took the margarita one of your men held out to you. “Ooooh, teenage rebellion?” You asked calmly and took a sip of your booze, clicking your tongue and pouting your lips, “So scawy! Gonna hit me, baby girl?”

The skeleton shot you a warning glare, but you rolled your eyes. “Not _my_ fault the little tart’s got an attitude. Blame the _parents._ ”

This was the _wrong_ fucking thing to say.


	2. Hey, YOU people walked into MY club!

The goat monster _burst into tears._ “Whoa!” you gasped and spilt your drink down your chin. The skeleton monster had gone from annoyed to _fucking pissed,_ and strode forward to comfort the goat woman. The girl had the sense to look guilty, and looked away from the scene. Suddenly feeling sheepish, understanding hit you like a bolt of lightning: the goat monster was _Toriel, Queen of Monsters._ The girl was Frisk, Ambassador of Monsterkind (and apparently rebelling against the role), and the skeleton was Sans, the skeleton, and a highly coveted quantum and astro physicist. “Oh shit,” you said, stunned. Your men had long disappeared; leaving you with the monsters and girl, and each of them had eyes on you then, curious. “Oh _shit,_ ” you said again, “What the fuck are you doing in my _club?_ ” These people were _royalty!_ Famous! And… You eyed Frisk, her slightly smudged makeup and heavy foundation. And apparently being a little teenage turd. You set your margarita down on the floor, standing gracefully and bowing with a flourish. ‘ _Time to turn on the charm and try not to get sued,’_ you grumbled internally. As you smiled at them, it could be said that your grin was greasier than deep-fried noodles. “Your majesty, I humbly apologize,” You said, your voice grand and dripping honey and oil. Unbeknownst to you, the look that the skeleton shot you could have curdled milk. Frisk scoffed and crossed her arms. Toriel sighed and wiped huge tears from her eyes, turning to you. “Thank you, young one,” she said, with a more genuine smile of her own. You paused, eyes zeroing in on her fangs, and your stomach gave a little flip. The skeleton next to her rolled his eyes (eye orbs? PUPIL ORBS? How did he SEE?) and patted the Queen's back. "We'll be going now," he hissed, and strode forward to grasp Frisk's arm tightly. The child screeched with indignation and attempted to pry his bony hand from her, with no success. You mentally rolled your eyes. Kid had everything and wanted to party? The Queen thanked you again, and headed after her daughter and friend.

You picked up your marg and took a long gulp. You'd be seeing those three again, one day, with your luck.

 


End file.
